


A Bit Like Art

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dark, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, Murder, No Sex, Serial Killers, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 14:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10362174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alastair, Meg, and Dean have found a new canvas.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN Polyship Bingo 2017  
> Square filled: Serial Killer AU

Meg tossed her head back, wetting her lips. The cold drag of the knife down her throat sent electricity straight to her crotch, causing her to squeeze her thighs together a little tighter. Dean’s lips followed the path of the knife, tongue darting out to graze the red welts the tip was leaving.

He reached the base of her sternum and lifted the knife so only the point came in contact with her pale skin, pushing in just enough to draw a droplet of blood.

Meg moaned, a gush of wetness soaking her panties further. Dean sunk down, letting the knife fall away only to be replaced by his mouth, licking the thin trail of coppery fluid. He rolled his eyes up, meeting her gaze in the flickering lights.

“Dean. Meg. She’s waking,” Alastair said from behind them, drawing their attention to the young woman strapped down on the cold metal table.

“Would you like first cut, Meg?” Alastair asked, holding the straight razor out to her.

Meg pulled her shirt back on, stepping forward slowly. Dean followed close after, pressing against her back as she took the razor, eyes roaming the exposed skin of their latest victim.

Alastair stepped back and pulled Dean from Meg. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, mouthing along his neck.

Dean’s head fell to the side, the rough scrape of Alastair’s scruff hardening his cock even further in the confines of his jeans.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Alastair whispered, “Look at the way she handles the blade.”

Dean moaned helplessly when Alastair cupped his cock through the denim, their eyes following the drag of Meg’s razor. She was cutting a deep wound in the side of their victim, the layers of skin pulling open to expose fresh fat and muscle. Blood oozed from the slice, dribbling like spilled paint onto the table.

The woman was screaming – but it didn’t matter. No one could hear her in this place.

“You taught her well,” Dean whispered, turning his head to the side to kiss Alastair.

  
They were both his apprentices – Meg first. She was intended to be a victim, but when Alastair had the blade pressed to her throat she made an offer he couldn’t refuse. To be his. To train under him, as long as it took – to learn to do what he did.

  
Dean came in about six months after. Meg _had_ been eyeing him as a potential target at a dive bar they stopped at, but after seeing him take apart two men in a bar fight single-handedly she begged Alastair to bring him into their fold.

Dean took to it like a fish to water. Meg would never admit it, but he’d surpassed her in the artistic flair of torture. She liked watching the life fade from her victim’s eyes, seeing the blood seep from their throats or stomachs as they pleaded for mercy.

Dean was different. He preferred to prolong the suffering. Shallow cuts, non-vital areas – anything to make his victim beg. He liked it best when they begged for death.

Together, with Alastair watching over them, they were the perfect pair. He knew he wouldn’t be around forever, and it was the greatest honor to have two beautiful creatures carrying on his legacy.

Having them in his bed as well was just a lovely perk.

 

The girl on the table began to plead with Meg as she made the fourth cut, a delicate flowered pattern carved out of flesh and blood.

Dean whimpered at the sound; music to his ears. Alastair chuckled, squeezing Dean’s crotch once more. “You want a piece, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Dean huffed, more of a moan than a word. His eyes slipped shut, blocking out the sight – but nothing could block out that beautiful sound.

“Go get some. Show me what you two have learned.”

Dean flung himself forward, stopping short of Meg’s back. He lifted her hair and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. She giggled, looking back at him.

“Taking a turn?”

“No, keep going, by all means. There’s plenty of canvas to play with.” He picked up a knife, circling to the other side of the bed. The girl looked up at him, her eyes hazy with pain and shock.

“Please—“

Dean leaned close to her. “Please what, sweetheart?”

“S—Save me.”

The grin that spread on Dean’s face at the girl’s words would have made Satan himself quake. He lifted the knife, pressing it lightly to her throat.

“Oh, I’ll save you, but my girlfriend and I are gonna make you real pretty first. Then our teacher is gonna come over and make sure we did good. See, if we do well, we make him proud.”

Dean flipped the blade over to the dull side and dragged it down the center of the girl’s chest, the point scraping a shallow gouge in her flesh. She screamed, writhing in the bonds once more.

Meg laughed, reaching out and slapping Dean’s hand. “Quit making her wiggle, Dean. You’re messing up my drawing.”

“Sorry. It looks nice,” He commented, stopping to watch Meg add a few shallow lines – curves on the leaves.

Alastair stepped up to the head of the table, admiring the work of his protégés. “You two improve more and more with each canvas.”

Dean smirked a little and Meg grinned openly, ignoring the girl’s renewed pleading for freedom. She didn’t want to die, she said. She had a boyfriend, and a sister – it didn’t matter. Not now. She was just a canvas, a human art board to carve and mold into a beautiful piece of artwork.

 

Dean traded his knife for a razor, carefully carving shallow cuts into the girl’s heaving chest. Each one was slightly deeper, running over the same spot again and again. Somewhere along the way – about the time the razor struck the bone of her sternum – her screaming stopped.

Alastair raised his hands, the simple command freezing both his apprentices. They removed the razors, laying strips of heavy cloth over the wounds and pressing down to slow the blood flow.

 

Alastair retrieved a syringe and a vial of adrenaline from his pocket, carefully drawing out a dose. “Now hold her still.”

Dean and Meg nodded, pressing hard against the wounds and her arms. Alastair waited a few moments, watching the girls chest rise and fall before driving the needle in and depressing the plunger.

She came to with a gasp and a cry, fighting against the two. “Let me go!”

“Not yet, my dear. Our lovely artists haven’t quite finished,” Alastair said, stroking back her sweat soaked hair. He leered down at her, ignoring the tears streaking down her cheeks.

Dean pulled the gauze off carefully, smirking at his half-finished project. Meg did the same, wiping blood from her razor before continuing.

 

Over and over, the two worked the girl’s flesh, splitting and flaying – carving delicate designs like a grotesque tattoo. It took time, and both were sweating and shaking by the time they’d completed their projects.

The girl was barely conscious, whimpering and begging for them just to end it. Dean held out the razor to Alastair, his green eyes shining with reverence when Alastair clasped his hand in both of his own.

He took the razor, wiping the blood off it before setting it on the tray next to the table. He picked up a boot knife and unsheathed it with a click, the double-edged blade glinting off the lights.

With one hand, he pushed the girl’s upper body up as far as he could. Dean and Meg each placed a hand on the back of her head, keeping her still – not that she had the energy to fight much anyway.

The blade buried itself in the base of the girl’s skull before anyone in the room realized. Alastair smiled, giving it a small spin – the wet squelch of brain matter and bone cracking before pulling it out.

Dean and Meg dropped her head without grace, a dull crack echoing in the silent room. They approached Alastair slowly, waiting for him to say anything.

He set the blade down and took their faces in his hands, stroking Meg’s cheek, and then Dean’s.

“You two did so well. You improve with each canvas – Soon you’ll surpass me.”

Meg mewled, leaning into his touch. Dean smiled a bit, stepping forward to press a kiss to Alastair’s cheek.

“We’ll never surpass you.”

Alastair patted Dean’s cheek. “Don’t be so modest. You’re a completely new animal, Dean. As is Meg. I’ll clean this up, and you two can wait for me in bed.”

They backed up, rushing toward the door like excited children. Alastair watched them go with a smile. He knew they’d wear him out in bed tonight – they always did after a kill like this one. It was times like these he was really reminded of his mortality, but was also reminded of how deeply he cared for his partners. They were his whole world, and would continue to be until the day he died. And that was enough.

 

 


End file.
